


Provocative

by DaydreamDestiel



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Jared, Bottom Jared Padalecki, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, For the sake of this fic you can imagine Misha and Jared, M/M, Needy jared, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Smut, Spanking, Spnuk, Stripping, Top Misha Collins, are either in happy polyamorous relationships, either way works, or that this is an au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 08:33:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14565138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaydreamDestiel/pseuds/DaydreamDestiel
Summary: Inspired by the events of SPNUK, where Jared basically gave Misha a lapdance on stage. This story is what I like to imagine happened after. ;)





	Provocative

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, okay, is it really my fault for writing this hot, hot porn when Jared Padalecki is the one who pretty much gave Misha Collins a lapdance on stage? Because, I feel like my culpability here is somewhere around 5%. Either way, share my torment friends. Share ... my ... torment. ^-^

Up until they walk through Misha’s hotel room door, to anyone watching, they’d look tired but happy. A respectable distance between them, but Jared’s entire body is tight with tension beneath the unaffected exterior he’s forcing. His stomach’s twisting with excitement, and there are goosebumps already rising on his arms. Misha walks in first, and Jared follows after. The door’s barely shut before Misha backs him against it.

Jared lets him, partly ‘cause he loves it and partly ‘cause it’s habit by now to _let_ Misha do just about anything he wants to him.

“Was it fun?” Misha asks, voice inscrutable, face tilted up so that his intense blue eyes catch Jared’s.

“Huh?” Jared mumbles, gaze torn between Misha’s pretty pink lips and those eyes he lives and breathes to feel on him.

The corners of Misha’s lips quirk up dangerously—hotly. “I asked you, Jared, if it was fun?”

He should really capitulate. If he admits he knows what Misha’s talking about, this whole thing will go over easier, but he’s too caught up in his own little game to consider giving it up now. He widens his eyes innocently, and throws Misha a lopsided smile—he knows he’s got one wholesome dimple peeking out, and there’s a reason people fall all over themselves when he smiles at them like this. Misha though, he doesn’t bat an eye. “When do you mean?” Jared asks like he doesn’t already know exactly what Misha’s fishing for.

Misha squints up at him, and that’s a Cas look if Jared’s ever seen one. “Jared.”

It’s a warning, low and gravelly, and fire flares up in Jared’s gut. He’s been half-hard since they started heading up here, and he’s all the way there in an instant. “Oh, you mean when I was play stripping?”

Misha’s eyes roll, “That wasn’t playing. That was purposely teasing me, and you know it. Hell, you basically gave me a lap dance on stage.”

Jared smiles wide now, full grin coming out as he presses his hips forward to rub against Misha. Arousal tingles up and down his spine as he does. “Uh-huh. Way I remember it, you couldn’t keep your hand off my ass. Counted at least three smacks.”

“Yeah?” Misha’s dick is hard against Jared’s thigh—heat of it seeping through two layers of jeans and underwear and making Jared’s stomach swoop dizzyingly. “The way I remember it you were wiggling your hips back against me like you were desperate for it. All those people watching you.” A rush of lust makes Jared's whole body flush hot and his cheeks blaze. Sweat’s already dampening his skin and making him sticky, needy. “Bet it got you hard, didn’t it? The way they ate it up.” 

He can’t help it, how he’s rutting up against Misha, all slutty-desire, and Misha knows it too. “Yeah,” he breathes, “God, Misha. They don’t even know.”

Low and throaty Misha chuckles, “Keep it up and they’re gonna catch on. There’s only so much you can play off as a joke, Jared.”

And that—that thought should be like ice down his back, it’s not really something he _wants;_ everyone knowing what he does in the privacy of hotel rooms and their bedrooms, but it just cranks up the heat that’s flooding him. Misha’s eyes sparkle with mischief when he pulls back.

“Are we gonna talk all night or are you gonna fuck me at some point?” Jared asks. He’s gonna get in trouble for that one, but it slips out anyway.

Alright, so maybe he’s looking to get punished. Maybe Misha’s playful swats earlier’d been just enough to make him want a real spanking, and just maybe he’s spent all day thinking about it whenever he’s had more than five seconds to himself.

Misha’s eyes harden, and Jared’s skin feels like it’s humming with anticipation. “I’ll fuck you when I feel like it,” Misha says, and Jesus, Jared squeezes himself through his jeans, ‘cause he can’t hear those words come out of Misha’s mouth and be expected to keep his hands _off_ his dick. Except Misha, apparently, doesn’t agree with Jared’s assessment. “You could just ask me,” he says flatly, and Jared cocks his head a little. “To spank you instead of desperately doing everything you can think of to get me to do it,” he clarifies.

Jared smirks. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Misha’s already walking to the bed. Jared stays where Misha put him—waiting. He’s still got a hand on himself, but he’s not rubbing, just enjoying the heat from the palm of his hand. He bites his bottom lip when Misha climbs onto the bed and leans back against the pillows and headboard. Looking nine hundred kinds of hot with his black jeans stretching tight over those thickly muscled thighs, his plaid shirt rolled up at the sleeves, showing off his tanned forearms where they’re crossed over his chest, he just stares at Jared for a beat. “Strip down all the way.”

His shoes and socks go first, eagerly, and then Jared rushes to unbutton the cuffs on his white dress shirt. Misha’s voice, laced with amusement forestalls his frantic flurry of motion, “Not like that, babe. You wanted to show off, right?” Jared’s lips part, and even he’s not sure if he was gonna protest or agree. He doesn’t get the chance to do either before Misha adds, “Show off for me.”

“Shit,” Jared groans, “Yeah, okay.” He smirks at Misha, “Gonna give me some music?”

Misha smirks right back, “No.”

Fuck. It’d be easier if there was music. If there was, then Jared could ham it up, and make it into another game. This way, it’s much more intimate. Misha’s gaze raking over every bit of skin Jared gradually reveals until he’s got his shirt completely unbuttoned. He ducks his chin, and looks at Misha with his hair falling down into his eyes. He knows how cute he looks like that, and even Misha eats the shy act up—doesn’t matter that he knows it’s faker than cubic zirconia.

“Take it off,” Misha instructs him, and Jared follows his command easily. He slides his shirt off one shoulder first, then the other, letting it flutter to the ground behind him. Misha nods, giving Jared permission to continue, and he tips his head back against the door, shows off the column of his throat and the five o’clock shadow that’s darkening it.

He traces his left hand over his right collarbone, from the outer edge all the way to the dip at the end, and then he slides it down his chest, further over the flat of his stomach. He curls his fingers around his belt buckle, pulse thundering as Misha's eyes darken and fix on what he's doing. A coil of want tangles white hot in Jared's gut while he nimbly gets his belt open.

His breath stutters out in a groan as he pops the button on his pants and unzips his fly. The sudden absence of too much pressure is a relief that zips along his nerves. After that it’s just hooking his thumbs inside of his underwear and pulling them down slow until he lets them fall and pool at his feet.

Misha's eyes are glued to Jared's cock, they follow the bob of it as he reacts to the heat in Misha's gaze, to the naked desire written all over his face. It's a powerfully heady feeling this, and someone might think he'd feel vulnerable—being naked like that while Misha was still fully clothed—only he doesn't. Mostly he's just turned on by the fact that Misha's undivided attention is focused on him.

Then there's the part of him that loves how he hasn't even kissed Misha yet, but he can see Misha's pants obscenely tenting, a flush in his cheeks and a glaze in his eyes that prove he isn't nearly as unmoved as he pretends to be.

Jared doesn't step out of his pants just yet. He gives it a second, if he just waits—

“Take them off all the way, and come over here.”

He keeps his smirk to himself and obeys, stepping out of his pants and underwear. It doesn't take him much more than a handful of seconds to cross the space between the door and the bed, and Misha peers up at him thoughtfully, like he doesn't already have this whole encounter planned out in that smart, smart brain of his. Jared's dick throbs; needy just like the rest of him.

“Climb over my lap,” Misha tells him, “ass up so I can give you that spanking.” He smiles, sharp and predatory. “Then once your ass’s all hot and red, I'm gonna fuck it hard.”

“Yeah, fuck. Please.” Jared doesn't even try to be graceful, too busy getting his limbs to cooperate under the steady assault of his arousal.

He's barely settled when Misha starts up, just lightly at first, wrist relaxed and fingers flared wide. It's not even hard enough to sting, just a pleasant warmth that spreads across his asscheeks with each slap. Steadily, Misha firms up his smacks, stiffens up his wrist enough that it starts to sting, and Jared can't help but grind his cock down against the rough denim still covering Misha's thighs. Friction delivering steady jolts of pleasure with each graze, riding the line of pain so perfectly that Jared’s toes curl and his breath comes faster.

The snap of Misha's palm against Jared's ass echoes in the hotel room, or maybe Misha's just smacking him that fast and hard now, Jared's too busy floating in the burn of it to tell. Fuck, he loves this. Misha grabs one of his ass cheeks in a firm grip, kneads it, and Jared moans out loud, sounds he was holding back pouring out gutturally. Misha's hands disappear for a moment, and Jared already mourns the loss.  “Mish—fuck, _Misha.”_

There are fingers then, wetly circling his rim, and when did Misha even get out the lube? Who the fuck cares, 'cause a moment later he sinks two fingers into Jared, easy. The glide of it’s smooth, and perfect. Misha's hands are smaller than Jared's, sure, but they're still big, his fingers are still thick and hot, pumping in and out of him, twisting in deep.

“Fuck, Jared. Always—you always take it so good for me. You're such a good boy for me like this. Even when you're a mouthy little shit the rest of the time.” Misha's got a filthy mouth, and Jared loves it. Loves Misha. The dirty scorching thrill of his words plucks at some cord hidden deep inside Jared, makes his entire being thrum with the reverberation of it.

“Yeah, God. Love taking it for you. Your—” Jared gasps as Misha sinks another slick finger into him, the stretch of it so good it's gotta be sinful. “Your fingers … fuck … your cock … your fucking tongue. Just—fuck, God—just love it when you fuck me.”

Jared's got a dirty mouth too, and he loves the sharp intake of Misha's breath when he says shit like that, the way he massages the tips of his fingers firmly over Jared's prostate like a reward, pleasure shocking him, making his hips grind back in a swivel he can't quite control.

“Fuck, I'm gonna fuck you so hard,” Misha promises, and Jared believes him wholeheartedly.

Misha's fingers slip out and he guides Jared to the center of the bed so he's got his cheek pressed against the white blanket, his knees under him and his ass angled up—ready for Misha. And he wants … fuck, he wants whatever Misha wants to give him. The same thing he always wants. Misha swats his ass and the sound of jeans unzipping followed by a condom wrapper crinkling makes Jared's whole body shiver—his response practically Pavlovian.

There's a tense, silent moment where Misha makes him wait. The only sound now is Jared's heartbeat thumping loud in his ears and his breaths filling his lungs.

“Fuck, you look good like this, Jared. You know that? Skin’s practically glowing, and God, you love it. Mmm.” Misha's hand slides up his back from his tailbone to the nape of his neck in one long sweep. “Your back all arched, that perfect tight little ass just waiting for me. Bet you want it so bad right now. Gonna beg me for it?”

Jesus Christ. Jared's hips jerk wildly, but Misha's hand squeezes the back of his neck and he forces himself still. “Yeah … fuck, I—Misha, please. Want your cock so _bad._ Thought about it all day. God, I need it so _bad.”_

“Need it, huh?” Misha's voice sounds amused, and the tip of his cock presses hot and blunt against Jared, right where he wants it, but the fucker’s just rubbing it around the outside and Jared's gonna crawl out of his skin if he doesn't get fucked soon.

“Misha, fuck. C’mon, man, I _need it.”_ He's desperate, and he wants to just shove himself back, take what he wants, but if he does Misha might not give it to him at all. He's not above denying himself to punish Jared's bad behavior.

Besides, Jared knows Misha’s just paying him back for teasing him on stage, for fucking with him when he couldn't really do anything about it.

Misha hums, “Yeah, you do. I can tell. Can feel how hot you are for me.”

Jared's stomach clenches with the spark of lust that sets off in his gut. Fire that catches and spreads out of control through his entire body. “Misha,” he pants, “Misha, please. Just—please.”

Finally, fucking finally, Misha pushes inside. One long hard thrust until he's buried deep, and a moan punches out of Jared's chest. Feels so good and so right, and he never wants it to stop. Instantly, Misha pulls almost all the way out and then slams in again, over and over. Brutal snaps of his hips dig into Jared's ass and light him up with a subtle burst of pain that only makes his pleasure burn even hotter. The scrape of denim and the jagged metal teeth of Misha's zipper add another layer to it all, and he's so fucking turned on.

“Yeah, fuck, Misha. Like that,” Jared groans.

Misha's fingers tighten where they're clutching Jared's hips, pulling him into every deep thrust. “You're so fucking … God, Jared. _Fuck.”_

Misha's got him so hard that Jared's leaking all over, and he can't concentrate on any one thing, but it doesn't matter because Misha's gonna take care of him—he always does. Jared just lets himself ping wildly from sensation to sensation; his cock aching, his ass stretched wide around Misha, the scratch of his stubble against the soft duvet beneath him, his fingers clenching tight in the sheets.

Misha doesn't lie—not to Jared. He fucks him hard. Misha's never fast either, he takes his time and lets his orgasm build up slow. Jared can always tell if Misha gets too close too fast. Misha changes angles or speed, and he calms himself down before he lays into Jared again. He’s done it a few times now, and Jared's so strung out that he’s light-headed with how good he feels.

Little deep sexy fucking groans push out of Misha's chest the closer he gets, and Jared knows this time he's gonna come. He knows because Misha's hand slides up his back again and squeezes just below Jared's hairline. “Touch yourself, Jared,” he grinds out, voice so low that it's bordering on Cas's register and fuck if that doesn't push all kinds of buttons for Jared, “Let me feel you come for me.”

Jared's hand is on his dick before Misha's even finished talking, hastily jerking himself off, fingers tightly curled. And his climax speeds toward him, heat coalescing in the pit of his stomach and the base of his spine—and fuck he's so close. His breath catches in his throat and he chokes out, _“Misha,”_ just as his loses himself to the blinding euphoria of it.

His dick is still pulsing jizz onto the sheets beneath him, body still trembling with pleasure when Misha slams in deep and grinds hard, hard into him. Blazing heat sears through Jared at the knowledge that Misha's coming, too. Aftershocks tremble through him. For a long moment neither of them moves, they just pant harshly, catching their breaths.

“Fuck that was hot,” Jared sighs.

Misha's hand feels fond on Jared's ass as he pats it. “You're hot,” he says matter of factly, then he carefully pulls out.

Later, once they're half-decently clean and tucked beneath the blankets, Misha kisses him soft and sweet. Deliciously opposite to the way he'd just thoroughly owned Jared's body, though no less addictive. Jared thinks about how lucky he is that Misha's part of his life. How crazy the odds must be that they'd ever meet in the first place, let alone that they've been able to set up their lives so they get to have this.

Whatever's responsible for the circumstances, Jared's glad. Because Misha's fingers are petting gently through his hair while he slips his tongue sensually past Jared’s lips, and he feels so damn loved—loves Misha back just as fiercely—and this feeling of rightness, of completion? This is worth every moment spent waiting for it.


End file.
